After they’d got back from their tour, tired but happy, William stayed for dinner, dealt with the wine and was generally useful. Gilly reflected that her ex-husband, Sebastian, had never been useful like that. He always claimed he didn’t know where anything went and it was true. Gilly felt he could have taken the trouble to find out where things went. But it was a policy with him: he prided himself on not helping around the house as he was the one who put food on the table, as if that exonerated him from doing anything else. Sebastian had never changed a nappy in his life. Not part of his job description.
Now here was William filling the dishwasher and finding where the glasses were by looking and asking.
‘You are being amazing,’ said Gilly after he’d managed to locate some very pretty pudding plates she didn’t use very often but thought the ladies would appreciate. ‘You could have just played host in the dining room.’
‘It’s a pleasure to hide out in here doing things. If I’d stayed in the dining room my aunts would have started dropping heavy hints in stage whispers about my asking you out.’
‘Goodness me!’ said Gilly, hugely taken aback.
‘Matchmaking is what aunts like to do best. They’ve been on at me for years – well since about six months after Annabel died at any rate,’ he went on cheerfully. ‘But don’t worry, they haven’t managed to make me do anything I didn’t want to yet.’
‘Good,’ said Gilly, not sure how to take this. It was the first time he’d mentioned his wife since she’d known him although she did know she had died tragically young.
‘They’ve already told me what a good cook you are, how pretty you are and how you’d make me a wonderful wife.’
‘Oh, William, I am sorry!’
‘Don’t be. It’s all true and anyway, I told you I always make my own decisions.’
Gilly didn’t know what to say so she smiled and put a tray full of lemon syllabub into his hands.
It was Sunday morning and Helena was about to round up a couple of friends to help her and Jago move her loom into the newly pointed barn when he looked through the open door of her studio.
‘Have you got a minute?’ he asked.
His expression was serious, which was unusual for him. ‘I hope you’re not going to tell me you can’t help me move my loom,’ said Helena, frantically thinking who she could call on instead.
‘No.’
‘So why are you looking like you’ve got bad news?’ Then she remembered. ‘You’ve got bad news.’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Should I make coffee?’
‘Probably. Or maybe something stronger like a turmeric latte.’
She forced a smile. ‘Fresh out of latte. I’ll put the kettle on.’
‘So?’ asked Helena. They both had drinks and were settled in her little sitting room. ‘Tell me all. Is he an axe murderer?’
He laughed. ‘If he is, no one’s caught him at it, but Leo Simmons is not a nice person.’
‘Where was he off to the day he nearly killed me and Mum?’
‘I didn’t manage to find out but I did discover he appeared in court a few days later facing a charge of embezzlement.’
‘And did he get off?’ asked Helena.
‘He got seven years but of course didn’t serve anything like that. He’s not someone you’d want your mother involved with though.’ Jago sipped his coffee. ‘Do you want all the stuff I printed out? Or would you rather not know the details? There’s a charge of dangerous driving in the mix.’
‘Oh God! Although I suppose that shouldn’t come as a surprise.’ Helena bit her lip. ‘Just tell me whatyou think I need to know. I may have to give Mum all the stuff though. This is horrible, Jago! It’s going to break her heart!’
‘Better now than later, I suppose, when it may betoolate.’ He went on to tell her of shady property deals, offshore accounts, even dodgy funeral plans. ‘So when will you tell her?’
Helena sighed and didn’t answer for a little while. ‘Part of me wants to run over to Fairacres now but the other half wants her to stay being happy for as long as possible.’
‘Why don’t we get your loom moved now and then you can decide? If she’s upset you won’t want to leave her and this old girl’ – he patted the loom fondly as if it were a horse – ‘needs to go to its new home.’
